


Granted

by FrozenPenguin



Series: And I'll give you all my Hart(win AUs) [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Royal Eggsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenPenguin/pseuds/FrozenPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Lee’s only chance to save the lives of his family and the stability of his kingdom is to give his only son away to marry Commander Hart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You must know that I never wanted this for you.”

Eggsy keeps his gaze straight as his father, his King, quietly tells him this.

They stand at the height of the hall, looking on as the pews steadily fill with people. The guests are mostly nobles of the court, captains and commanders of high standing in the army, as well as the heads of various guilds and trading companies. There is a large crowd of commoners eagerly waiting outside. Eggsy spies them through the doors in between the clusters of entering guests, eagerly leaning past the guards lined along the street to catch a glimpse of the hall and the gathering inside. A few children have found their way to a stained glass window at the hall’s east end, giddy with their achievement of stealing prime seats to witness a historic occasion they otherwise would only hear word of. The monks of the Holy House remain ignorant of them as they flutter to and forth, finishing the last preparations for the ceremony that is about to be held.

Lee sighs heavily through his nose when his son doesn’t dignify his statement with a response, or indeed gives any sign of having heard it at all. “Oh, my little egg… must you continue to hold your silence, even on this day? In these final moments?” he pleads softly, deliberately appealing to whatever is left of the familiar love between father and son.

To this, Eggsy does respond, but stubbornly keeps from looking to Lee as he grimly says, “You speak as if you was leadin’ me to the bloody slaughter, m’ King.”

“Indeed, I might as well be,” Lee surprisingly concedes, a simmering anger pulling on the lines of his tired face, which was once so quick to smile and laugh. “The entire affair is manipulative, designed solely to remove us from power in the quietest way possible. My hand is forced to giving you away like a sacrificial lamb to a betraying _beast_ of a man who is thirsting for fresh meat.”

At this horrendous metaphor, a huff of disbelieving laughter leaves him before he responds. “Just two months ago you was real quick to praise the ground he walked on, raving on and on about his skill, his victories…how charitable and _chivalrous_ he was—and now he’s a dishonest monster.”

“And I was a fool not to have seen it before!” Lee then exclaims heatedly, yet keeps his voice low lest the entire audience gathered in the cathedral should hear. “Not before long after he approached me did I realise—and I was so blinded to have though he had done so with good intent—the way he elected to spend his time around you under pretence of aiding your education when he surely could have put it to better use elsewhere, circling around you to clamber for your affections the second you let your guard down… My dear son—surely you, too, must see. He is a vile, power-hungry man who sees you solely as a means to gain authority—who means to have you kept as a… a _whore_ to warm his sheets, to use whenever he sees fit, while he seats himself on the throne which is rightfully yours.”

“‘s that really how you think of all this?” Eggsy inquires, unable to look away any longer at his father’s scandalous accusations. He meets the glowering green of his eyes, nearly identical to his own, searching them for any hint of doubt or regret of his words. He finds none.

“It’s not just what I think, Eggsy—it’s the truth.”

“Yeah, is that so? You want to hear another few truths, then?” he challenges, voice dropping just above a whisper, frustration and disappointment lacing his every word. “ _You_ was the one who got us here, da. If you had just _listened_ to the people backing you from the start—or if you’d just said you’d step _down_ a month ago, we’d all—me, you, mum—we’d be gone from here, and fucking _happy_ not havin’ to worry ‘bout every noble wanker in the kingdom fucking us over the moment we turn our backs to them. _You_ are the reason this is happening.”

To this, for a long while, Lee says nothing. His lips stretch into a thin line and his sunken face grows a shade paler. In the end, he admits to none of the faults his son has accused him of, and instead says, “I did what I could to keep the kingdom whole. I hadn’t wanted for you to suffer for the greed of those who wished otherwise.”

Eggsy fails to conceal the grief he holds for the kind, just father he once had, who is now dead and buried under anger and resentment leaving a frail, loathing man he does not recognise.

With a shuddering breath, he murmurs, softly, “I wonder what you would have wanted for me.”

“A happy marriage—one of love, not of politics and greed,” Lee answers him. “I should have wanted to see you smile when I grant your hand to your spouse...to know that once I pass my legacy would be carried on through your rule.” He then mourns bitterly: “Now it shall be replaced with strings and stagehands, at the discretion of a vile brute.”

Eggsy wants to retort, to say how hypocritical his words are, how his actions as of late have said the exact opposite, of how _love_ surely holds no meaning to Lee—at least not any longer—but he has scarcely formed the beginning of a reply in his thoughts when a hush falls through the room. The eastern chamber doors are pulled open and Commander Hart walks through them.

The ceremony begins.

From the very start, Eggsy observes his husband to be with a held breath. He cuts a tall, undoubtedly handsome figure as he begins to traverse the marble floor stretching between them, flanked by a handful of King’s guards and monks in ceremonial cloaks. It is as if he glides over the stone—the fabric of his own wedding garb dancing with his movements. Yet he walks with intent, the authority of a born ruler, steps never faltering and gaze unwavering.

From his time knowing the man, Eggsy knows he is a powerful presence when he wishes to be and unassuming when he wishes otherwise. Today, with his shoulders squared gracefully and shapely chin held high, he clearly aims to be the former, and the resolve in his eyes makes Eggsy unconsciously mimic his confidence as he corrects his stance to stand taller and more poised before his betrothed. Lee might have noticed the small change in his stance, for he can see his compassionless stare from the edge of his vision.

Once the party closes in, the monks and guardsmen part ways to find their positions in the room. The King gently grabs his son’s hand and holds it up daintily for Commander Hart to take, his expression schooled into false reverence as he does so.

The commander curtsies before his King and prince, as is proper, before his gloved fingers reach up to gently encircle his betrothed’s hand. Eggsy knows he feels his father resist for a long moment before letting go of him, but he is unsure whether he imagines it when Commander Hart holds his hand somewhat tighter after the short display of opposition. He makes no move to recognise the impropriety of what the King did, however. Instead, he gallantly leads Eggsy away from a scowling Lee and across the heightened platform until they stand before the Arch Priest.

Through the entirety of these proceedings, his gaze never once leaves Eggsy.

Within the hour, traditional scriptures have been read, pendants of vow and bonding exchanged, music is played, and the prince and the commander are married. As the Arch Priest announces their titles and union, Eggsy thinks that, for a moment, his new husband looks very pleased, thumb caressing his gloved hand in an almost cherishing manner that sends tingles running up his arm, eyes glinting and expression softer than it had been throughout the whole ceremony.

They exit the cathedral to the melody of harps and flutes by the west entrance, surrounded by the cheers of the crowds who see their beloved prince and celebrated warlord finally joined in a highly anticipated union of matrimony. Eggsy feels numb with anticipation throughout it, every face passing in a blur of colour and noise that never quite registers in his mind, but he smiles and waves and keeps up the impression of happiness and royalty. Yet, despite being so heedless of his surroundings, the hand holding his own keeps him very aware of his new husband’s unwavering presence and the expectation of what is to come.

* * *

 

The feast that follows is for the court only, for lords and ladies to congratulate the newly formed couple. Yet, the celebrations of the common folk fill the streets throughout the afternoon and gives all indication of continuing into the night, or so his manservant and friend, Ryan, informs him in the passing, in a short moment where the commander isn’t by his immediate side. Eggsy smiles genuinely then, glad his people have found a cause to make merry, as there has been little occasion for it as of late with the looming clouds of conflict hanging over them.

He gives Ryan leave for the night, and the following day, to join the celebrations himself. The gesture is enormously appreciated by his friend who goes immediately to find Jamal, the horse-master’s son, to have him join him for pints out in the town, but not before congratulating Eggsy and assuring him that they will sneak him out to go riding whenever he should need it.

Lady Roxanne, another one of his dear friends and trainee for the King’s guard, finds him before he is reunited with his husband.

“Eggsy,” she says softly, and after one look at his strained smile, pulls him into an alcove and into a sorely needed embrace. The wine has been flowing for long enough for no one to notice if he is gone for a moment. As he hides his face in her shoulder, most of the tension of the day bleeds out of him slowly and it is no longer so hard to take even breaths.

“Thanks Rox,” he mumbles after a long minute, and they share a fond smile as they pull apart.

“Anytime,” she promises, and he knows she means it. She glances out at the crowd, undoubtedly, towards where Commander Hart is conversing with Sir Arthur and his associates, and gives him a crooked grin. “I suppose congratulations are in order. Good on you, bagging the second most eligible bachelor in the kingdom—second only to yourself, of course. So—good on Sir Hart for bagging you then.”

She seems very pleased with her quip, and he lets her be as he plays along. “Yeah, perfect match, innit. Whole of the Kingdom says so,” he jokes back, but then frowns as he remembers, “’cept for my dad.”

Roxy’s hand touches his shoulder in comfort; she knows more than most just what Lee’s thoughts on the matter are, for Eggsy often confines in her.

She informs him his father has left under the pretence of having overindulged in the selection of wines, but Eggsy is certain it is to avoid having to announce their departure, and then watch the commander lead him off to their chambers to consummate their union.

When they step out of the alcove concealing them, Eggsy sees his husband surveying the room in a mildly apprehensive demeanour, though once the commander sees him standing next to Roxy the anxious suspicion fades, and he swiftly makes his way towards them, back to his place at Eggsy’s side.

“Lady Roxanne,” he greets Roxy once he has reacquired the hand of the prince, holding it gently within his own.

She immediately curtsies deeply. “Prince Consort Hart.”

The commander smiles humorously, and tells her, “I shall have to request you continue to address me as your Commander. My active duties in court shan’t precede my current ones for some time yet.” Roxanne smiles pleasantly, and her stance becomes decisively more that of a swordsman when she gives her promise that she will. The commander seems satisfied with her word, and goes to query about her own progress in the King’s guard. “How fares your sword arts? Sir Percival ensures me you are his very best student.”

“I shall have to work harder to maintain his integrity, then,” she replies courteously, but her eyes shine with the praise of her skills. “I have a wonderful companion in his Highness whenever I should need to spar, though I am sure you already know this. Prince Gary told me you instructed him when he first took up the sword.”

Eggsy inconspicuously raises an eyebrow at her for choosing to steer their conversation to such a topic, but Commander Hart is already replying, “That is indeed true, though I am assured the Prince has improved rapidly since we last had the chance to cross swords. I shall have to put this claim to the test in the very near future.”

Eggsy hides his surprise and flushed cheeks behind a goblet of wine, but Roxy doesn’t seem to catch the hidden meaning of the words. She continues their conversation on various uses of sword techniques in sparring versus actual combat, and the commander responds in kind, giving his expertise on various matters while also making sure to ask for her opinions, as well as Eggsy’s.

Roxy eventually bids them farewell with another curtsy, “Your Highness, Commander Hart.”

Soon after, she has disappeared into the crowd to find her friend visiting from the neighbouring Kingdom (a princess, she has told Eggsy, and he doesn’t doubt it is true).

As he watches her go, another court nobleman approaches them to relay his congratulations and pull Eggsy into a discussion on the current trade situation of the Southern borders. Next to him, he again takes notice of his husband gazing at him with the strangely pleased look he has worn ever since the conclusion of their wedding ceremony. Only now, he can find the words to most fittingly describe it: it’s the expression of a man relieved of a heavy burden who is about to enjoy the fruits of his labour.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very grateful for the positive response to this short fic. I ended up writing this last chapter very quickly, and editing it very late--so I'm sorry for any mistakes I might have missed. I will probably re-read it a third time at a later date and attempt to make it better.
> 
> Hopefully, you'll enjoy the last part, as I had a lot of fun writing it (though it ended up being more filthy than actually plot-y).
> 
> Cheers xx  
> -A

The event is inevitable, even without the presence of the King. Eventually, someone calls for their retreat, and there is nothing he can do but let himself be cheered on and urged out of the hall, and let the commander lead him to their chambers with a strong, insistent hand on his back.

Once the doors are closed and latched, and they are left alone in their rooms, Eggsy comes to stand still a few feet away from the bed. He pretends to admire the detail put into the room while his new husband removes his robe and leather gloves at the dresser and washes his face and hands in the basin left there by a servant. There is a thick tension in the air that has been building throughout the evening – the entire day, Eggsy dares say – and he can taste the anticipation of what is to come.

Footsteps shuffle about the room as Eggsy focuses on his own breathing and racing thoughts. Soon enough he feels Commander Hart’s steady breath over the nape of his neck and dexterous hands undo the binding of his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, and his breath catches. With nearly uncanny familiarity, powerful arms slide around him in a warm embrace.

They stand there for a while, unmoving, until Eggsy lets out a sigh and relaxes into the hold. In the same moment, Commander Hart exhales, as if relieved, and tightens his hold on him, face pressing into his hair, just behind his ear, inhaling his scent with a pleased groan, then murmurs into his ear, “My darling boy. Oh, how I knew you would look stunning in wedding garb.”

Eggsy nearly snorts. “Really, Harry?” he tilts his head away, but Harry chases him down without protest, lips pressing soft kisses to his throat and neck, no less persuasive if not more demanding. “My dad turns you away once, and you go runnin’ away to join a coup in your elaborate plan to legally take me to bed.”

“That certainly is the gist of it,” Harry admits as his hands glide up Eggsy’s chest to find the ornate buttons of his royal coat, beginning to undo them as he continues to speak. “The coup d’état would have happened whether I backed it or not—as will the war—and even if I had stood by your father, the result had still been the same, except I should have been stripped of my rank and status and thrown into the dungeons, moreover. Instead, I am here—and with a rather lovely reward, might I add.”

“So I’m a prize, then,” Eggsy retorts, but there is no real bite behind his words. He doesn’t resist when the commander slides his coat off his shoulders, letting it join his costly, overly ornate wedding cloak on the floor, and smiles gingerly as he adds, “Ripe young plaything and a royal title, all yours for the takin’.”

“Of course not,” Harry quickly amends, already pulling Eggsy’s shirt out of his trousers. “The title of Prince Consort is merely a necessary gratuity. While Lee truly has been running this kingdom’s foreign policies into the gutter, he is still popular with his people—the _Beggar Prince_ , risen to nobility from humble beginning. His heart is pure—much like yours, my dear—but he is far too stubborn for the good of the kingdom and its people, which has led him to make choices that have greatly damaged his cause—there now, lift your arms for me, darling… very good, my boy.” Harry stops briefly as the shirt joins the growing pile on the floor. He circles Eggsy, who follows his movements with his gaze, until he stands a mere feet away from him, face to face, admiring the young man before him.

A hand comes up to touch the prince’s jaw. A calloused thumb passes over the sensitive flesh of his lip. His tongue instinctively comes out to moisten them, unintentionally brushing the commander’s finger, and Eggsy glances up just in time to see something dark and familiar pass through his hazel brown eyes.

“But you…” The commander swallows as his thumb pressing on the young man’s lips prompts them to part softly. “The Alliance needs the power of the troops loyal to the crown, and it needs its people to adhere, if the Kingdom is to be saved. The best way to have both is to have the throne in its hand—a union through marriage to King Lee’s only son: the handsome and accomplished Prince Gary, respected by the troops and beloved by the crowds.”

Eggsy closes his eyes but can’t stop the shiver that runs through him, the fluttering and twisting in his stomach at the praise, meaningless to him when spoken in court but worth his very breath when laid out by Harry Hart, who presses their faces impossibly close as he continues to speak.

“I admit I might have played my hand in a dishonest manner to be granted the honour of being the one to have you. However, you were never the prize, dear heart. Indeed you were, above anything, the prime incentive.”

“Harry…” Eggsy says breathlessly, his entire body heating up as the implication of the words dawns on him. This man, this great and beautiful man, had gone against his vows to the throne, left him without word of his whereabouts for months, only to then return and hold the King he had sworn to protect at sword point, all for the sake of being with _him_.

He peeks though one eye to find Harry’s closed also, their foreheads touching and breaths mingling in the scant space between them, a vulnerable display of deep, trusting affection, and he knows then that the feelings between them were no less there than they were all those months ago, still strong and honest, and now also tried by a long separation. He swallows heavily before he dares to proclaim, “…you’re serious.”

Hazel brown eyes blink open, meeting his own, darkened with affection and desire, entirely honest as Harry replies, “Of course I am.”

“Shit, Harry—” Eggsy wants to say more, tell him how relieved he is and how much he loves him, what a _fucking wanker you are leaving me here like that_ , but those words are stuck in his throat and all he can do is throw his arms around his lover—his _husband’s_ neck and pull him closer to push their mouths together in a desperate attempt to convey what he can’t say just then. It’s rough, lacks the finesse Harry had painstakingly taught him when they first became lovers, but they both melt into it as thirsting men taking their first drink after days of no water. While Eggsy had gone in with force, Harry eventually pushes him back, slowing him down and drinking him in, leisurely savouring the press of their lips and tongues, and making Eggsy do the same.

When they part for a fresh breath of air, they both look thoroughly debauched, the prince perhaps more so as his naked chest had been sliding against the material of Harry’s coat, rubbing his nipples to an irritated redness to match the flush of his cheeks and swollen lips. Harry nearly steps back to take in the sight of him fully, but Eggsy will have none of it and quickly yanks the man down by his still intact clothing to whisper into his ear, “Are you ever going to consummate this marriage or do I need to have my dad annul it in the morning?”

“You shall do no such thing,” Harry all but growls back at him, his hold tightening at the mere thought of considering annulment after spending all those painstaking months planning and executing a course of action that would lead him to this moment.

Eggsy grins, nearly laughing as he replies, “Then you’d better take me to bed, Commander Hart. That’s an order, from your _husband_ and King to be.”

He gets his wish, and Harry does not spare on his display of strength as he hoists him up, legs around the commander’s hips and kissed within an inch of his life as Harry lowers him down and spreads him out across the sheets.

There is little time for thoughts as Harry’s mouth devours his, swallows every whine and gasp that leaves him, licking into his mouth as a man starved. Eggsy is too sprung, too on edge from the scrape of teeth against his bottom lip, to tell him anything but broken whispers of “Yes—Harry, _yes_ ” and “missed you so much”. In response, he receives deep groans of approval, _feels_ them vibrating against his mouth, his jaw, and feels Harry _grin_ into his neck when he moans particularly loudly in response to a bite meant to mark the skin there.

Harry moves on to his chest, rough, sword calloused hands running up his sides and teeth further worrying his already raw nipples, creating a deliciously tingling sensation that makes him bite his lip and tangle his hands into Harry’s impossibly gorgeous hair. Suddenly, the thought of still wearing clothes gravely irritates something in Eggsy, the side of him that after the first three weeks with no sign of Harry’s return was driven mad with worry and grief and regret that he hadn’t spent every waking moment he could naked in the man’s embrace, and the coat and shirt Harry is _still wearing_ becomes his bitter enemy.

“Off,” he demands, pushing his husband back far enough for his hands to reach for the buttons. Harry smiles wickedly as he fails to open more than a couple in his rush of heat and frustration, enjoying seeing him struggle. Eggsy huffs, and threatens, “Take this off—or I’ll tear it off you,” and Harry immediately complies, knowing from experience that his lover has no innate respect for fine stitches and textile and will very likely go through with his threat. He quickly removes his jacket, but is unhurried in the way he pulls his shirt over his head, leaving the prince to appreciate the view of his chiselled chest and thick arms, filled in with heavy muscles and littered with smooth scars that Eggsy can’t wait to slide his hands across, rediscover every nook and cranny of the wonder that is his Harry.

He could lie there and look on forever, but Harry doesn’t allow him more than a moment, his hands already pulling at the drawstrings of his trousers, nudging his hips to lift off the bed. Soon Eggsy is completely naked under his gaze, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, and breathing jagged from their longs, passionate kisses. Harry cannot help but indulge in another one, slow and sweet, leaving his lovely husband with flustered cheeks and panting for more.

“You are a sight,” he hums as they part, cupping the back of Eggsy’s knee to spread his legs further, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh, eliciting a delightful gasp from his puffy lips. “Beautiful. Absolutely lovely.”

“Says you,” Eggsy responds chidingly, but the truth is that here, under the smouldering gaze of Harry Hart, he truly feels lovely—and brilliant, and whatever else Harry tells him he is. He feels amazing, gorgeous, and impossibly _good_.

Like this, with his legs thrown over the commander’s broad shoulders and helpless to buck his hips into it, Harry sucks him off languidly, taking his sweet time to bring him to the edge and then let him fall back before doing it all over again. He refuses to let him do anything but enjoy it, his strong, unmoving grip leaving Eggsy unable to move or reach for him. All he can do is clench the sheets underneath him, whine and moan, and curl his toes when he is so, so close, only to be brought back by a hand clenching around his base while Harry coos and praises him for being so good and obedient for him.

“Not a day went by after I left when I didn’t think of this,” Harry confesses, pumping his slick, weeping cock with unhurried strokes, eliciting a needy sob from the young man under him. “I wanted to see you undone like this beneath me. Every day I wished for it.”

He comes with a high-pitched wail when Harry presses a finger behind his bollocks, streaks of white splattering his own chest and Harry’s hand, and everything is just right and too much and it’s fucking spectacular.

He is still riding his high, slowly coming down, and doesn’t protest when Harry leaves him with a soft kiss and goes to the dresser to ruffle around a bit in the drawers. His husband then comes back, greeting him with another tender kiss and gently turns him onto his stomach; he knows the next part, has been _longing_ for the next part, for Harry knows his body so, so well, perhaps better than he does himself, and his fingers always reach those places Eggsy’s just doesn’t, creating a hollow in him he has been unable to fill with Harry gone. It is never as good alone as it is with him there to guide him and open him up in all the right places.

He moans when the first finger breaches him, generously slick with oil, lenient and tender; he is made too pliant by his orgasm for it to ache, and he just melts into it with a pleased sigh.

“There you are,” Harry murmurs, praising his receptivity, thrusting his finger further inside, biting at his neck and kneading the flesh of his arse, keeping his cheeks spread further apart to allow him better access. “So very tight, Eggsy. Tell me, did you do this to yourself while I was gone?”

He nods his head, moaning loudly as his honesty is rewarded with the stretch of another finger.

“Or perhaps…did you indulge yourself with another’s company?”

“No…!” he all but yells, shocked that Harry has even entertained such a ridiculous notion, “I’d never—‘s only you, Harry, I promise.”

He feels his husband’s grin against his back. “My apologies, my love. I only meant to tease you—though this does please me greatly,” he says, massaging deep into Eggsy, making him squirm beneath him. “Even if you had, I should have forgiven you. I had given you no way to know I was waiting for my chance to return to you, to have you be mine permanently. But…I should have had to erase every memory of them from you. Now that you are mine, I cannot have you thinking of anyone else.”

Eggsy flushes with this jealous promise, his entire being tingling delightfully at the thought of being so coveted. Harry then pulls away, tenderly turns Eggsy on his side with a sloppy kiss to the leg he lifts over his shoulder. He adds another generous amount of oil to his fingers, and gives a third digit to his lover, thrusting them more deeply and curling them into the spot he knows will bring his boy unfathomable amounts of pleasure, indulging in the way he shouts out for him.

“Oh, yes—Harry, _Harry_ ,” Eggsy cannot help but pant his name in succession, flushing even darker as he really feels like the whore his father had accused him of becoming that very morning, but if it is here, for Harry, he finds that he doesn’t have a single care in the world to give, as long as Harry wants him and loves him all the same. At the moment, he thinks, this is all provided his husband stops messing around and just _gives it_ to him already, which is clearly what they both want.

Eggsy is hard and leaking again by the time Harry eases his fingers out. He lays back to catch his breath a little, watching Harry from the corner of his eye peeling off the remainder of his clothes, the warmth in his stomach churning and rushing to his cock as he finally sees Harry standing naked before him, thick and dripping with want for him.

Harry grabs the oil once more, slicking up his cock and spreading the remainder over Eggsy’s twitching hole, rubbing it with the pads of his fingers to watch him squirm and shiver. He grabs his leg again, throwing it over his shoulder to keep him spread open for him.

Eggsy feels the familiar blunt force against his entrance, and cannot help but close his eyes and gasp quietly as the head breaches him. The stretch is a thousand times better than he remembers, and feeling Harry rocking back and forth, steadily fucking his way into him is deliciously overwhelming.

“There we are—you’re doing so well for me Eggsy, very, _very well_.” Harry reassures him gently, but there is a strained tension in his voice and Eggsy preens with the achievement of being the one to ruffle the always-impeccable Commander Hart.

The start is usually the worst give, Eggsy remembers vaguely, but it has been a long time and as they are now Harry feels endless and heavy inside him, stretching him to the point he thinks he might tear, but it’s never a sting of hurt, just a delicious, good sort of _ache_ that makes him moan, “more, more, please _more_ ,” and cry out not-so-quietly when Harry gives in to his pleads.

When Harry finally stops, bollocks tight against his cheeks and painting sloppy, wet kisses against his legs, Eggsy thinks he has never been so full, so _whole_ , with Harry there around him, _inside him_ , looking so thoroughly debauched and needy and _gorgeously wild_ with desire.

His hands are shaking with the strain of clenching the sheets, and he wishes instead that he could be clenching beautiful, finger-shaped bruises into Harry’s shoulders. He reaches out, unconsciously, but can’t get nearly close enough. He gives a frustrated whine, and Harry catches his outstretched hand in his, leaning forward to suck gently on the offered digits, and Eggsy groans with the filthiness of it.

“Shit, Harry…” he breathes, “Just fuck me already, please, I swear to the gods I can’t—” Eggsy isn’t quite sure what he would say next, but it is just as well as his pleading is swallowed up by a shout when Harry readjusts his grip on his leg, pulling the other one with him as he goes, and _thrusts_ into him.

Harry rocks his hips like that for a bit, testing the slide, the slick of them, together, and sets an almost punishing pace, pressing Eggsy nearly in half against the bedding. The thick head of his cock rubs against that one spot with every slide, without fail. Eggsy is sobbing with the intense pleasure, his own dick drooling against his chest, and finds there isn’t much he can do but lay there and take whatever he is given. He finds scant relief in the way Harry will bring their mouths together and swallow his voice for a while, so he doesn’t have to hear the pitiful noises he hadn’t thought himself capable of. If he tries to hold back however, Harry snarls deep in his throat, thrust even harder for a while and demands, “Let me hear you Eggsy, you are doing so wonderfully,” until he gives in, and “Yes Eggsy, that’s it.”

He feels Harry churning him apart, playing his body in such an exact manner that speaks of familiarity, grinding into spaces deep in him and marking parts of him he has already found before, but while there is an element of rediscovery to his meticulous fucking there is also something entirely new to this. It’s in the way he gently kisses his brow when he is close enough, in the way his hips stutter a bit with every few thrusts even though he can go for a long while longer, and also in the way he murmurs possessively, lovingly, “You’re mine—you’re mine, and I am yours” and “Promise me you’re mine, darling.”

And Eggsy does promise, that “Yes, yes I’m yours, only yours Harry”, and he really means it.

When he comes for the second time that night it is with Harry’s name on his lips, a mantra in his mind along the incoherent lines of “mine, mine, _only yours_ , _Harry_ —he’s mine,” and he _explodes_. He feels Harry’s large, calloused hand stroking him through it, and it’s too much and just perfect at the very same time, every single nerve ending set alight, and he wails and wails as he feels the cum splattering across his chest, while Harry keeps churning him apart, whispering in his ear how lovely he is, how amazing he feels, fluttering kisses on his cheeks and promising, “Just a little more, darling, you’re doing so well.”

Eggsy moans back “yeah, yeah, yeah I’ll be so good—for you, for you Harry” and sobs softly with the overstimulation of it all.

Finally, Harry grinds deep into him and stills with a loud groan, letting him feel the warm cum splattering inside him, and stays there as he rides out his orgasm.

He hears more than he feels Harry slide out, leaving a nasty tickle of oils and ejaculate dripping out of him. He gives a surprised yelp when his husband’s fingers breach him again, and he kisses his thigh in apology while his fingers glide in, scoping out the remainder of the mess they left inside him. When Harry finishes, he leaves him sore and empty, but also soaring with the sensation of what they have just done, together.

_Married_ , his mind supplies, and he nearly doesn’t believe it, but his heart flutters and his body tingles with the rawness of it, and he doesn’t realise he has dozed off until Harry brings a warm cloth to his chest, wiping away the remains of their activities, and moves on to his thighs.

The only reason he doesn’t say “I love you” then and there is because Harry smiles down at him with such indulgence and happiness, it simply takes his breath away.

Instead, he smiles back, breathy and fuzzy with feelings as he whispers, “Hi.”

Harry leans down and kisses him then, murmuring a soft “Hello there” against his lips, and Eggsy grins stupidly into his mouth.

A few minutes later, they drag themselves under the covers, tangled up in each other, exchanging soft looks and kisses and touches, completely gone in the other’s presence. They quietly exchange whispered words and promises of devotion, and Eggsy can hardly believe he had been so very anxious about their inopportune reunion that very morning.

He then frowns, as he is reminded of just why they were reunited in the first place. Eggsy is convinced that as long as he has Harry, as long as they are both safe, alive and _together_ , he will be fine. But Eggsy also is inherently not a selfish person. There is a reason why his people love him. He is just and kind to them, he cares about every single one of them, and even here, in his Harry’s embrace, he cannot help but worry about the future of the kingdom as it stands in this moment.

While his mind churns over these matters, Harry notices he has fallen silent. Kindly, he strokes a hand through his hair, and voices his concern. “I see something is troubling you.”

Eggsy hesitates for a short moment, but quickly decides that he cannot allow any white lies or uncertainties between them if they are to go through the coming years together. “It’s nothing really… I was thinking ‘bout tomorrow…the future and all that. Like, what we’ll be doing—what will happen.”

“I understand,” Harry murmurs and buries a kiss into his hair. “You shan’t have to worry, darling. I did plan further than wedding and bedding you, as farfetched as it may sound to you.”

Eggsy nods, but his frown persists. “So I become King,” he hypothesizes, “once my dad agrees to abdicate. And Arthur and the Alliance tell you what to tell me to do. We live happily ever after.”

Harry gives a heavy sigh, and at first Eggsy thinks he has hit the nail precisely on the head, but when he shifts in order to look at him directly there is a different look in his husband’s eyes, and he simply says, “No, Eggsy,” in an expectant way, as if he is waiting for Eggsy to understand the meaning behind his words.

So Eggsy’s frown deepens, in his confusion this time, and he falls into deep thought. “But the coup d’état… it doesn’t make sense. You all barging into the castle and making dad agree to this… that’s the next step, innit? Become the ruling power of the throne.”

“Yes, it certainly is,” Harry agrees nonchalantly, “in Arthur’s plan, that it.”

Eggsy stills, and suddenly the soft grin on Harry’s face starts to make sense as he works out what Harry has in mind, but he still needs to hear him say it, which he does.

“I don’t plan on having you play the role of a puppet to Arthur, my dear. I plan on making you a king – a good king. Better than anyone this kingdom has seen, and better than your father could ever hope to be.”

“You… you’re serious,” Eggsy declares.

“Most certainly.”

There is a moment of awed silence between them before Eggsy speaks up, a laugh in his tone, “What, so you’re going to teach me how to talk proper, like a proper noble?”

“One’s speech has nothing to do with one’s aptitude for leadership,” Harry remarks sternly, but amused. “I was thinking we could start with some basic politics and making acquaintances with your supporters.”

“My supporters?” Eggsy queries.

And Harry smiles again. “You are more popular amongst your court than you might believe. In fact, there are quite a few actors in play who would rather support your cause than Arthur’s or even Lee’s. You have friends among those you might decipher as your enemies, Eggsy. They are waiting for you to call on them.”

Eggsy is stunned into a long moment of silence as a door to a whole new world of possible outcomes opens up before him. This was what Harry had been doing for the last months—assuring his future would be a bright one. Creating an _opportunity_.

“And you?” he asks then, and Harry raises an eyebrow in question. “You—you will be there, too, yeah?”

At this, he smiles, and kisses the prince once again, deeply. “Always, darling. My sword is yours—as is my heart, if you will have it.”

Eggsy grins against his lips, and throws his arms around him, loving, possessive.

“ _Yes,_ Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ha, Harry, maybe you should have mentioned this a little bit earlier hm?)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this. I hope you enjoyed it enough to leave a kudos or a comment. (In other words: please talk to me.)  
> After the 26th, I will attempt to get back to writing "Thine Heart to Conquer", as I've been working on more world building this month, as well as re-reading my notes and writing. It will be strange getting back into that writing style, which was why I wanted to write this fic also--a warm-up of sorts.
> 
> Again, thank you so much, and I hope to see you around. xx

**Author's Note:**

> I am still working on my other fics, but I needed to get this out of my system after a long stressful summer/autumn.


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